LOVE IN THE MOONLIGHT

Chapter 2: The Hoodie He Forgot

I spent the entire day pretending that last night didn't happen, that I didn't sit on a freezing rooftop at 2 AM with the most popular guy on campus while wearing his hoodie and talking about everything and nothing at the same time, because if I admitted that it happened then I would have to admit that for the first time in months I didn't feel like I was drowning under the weight of failed exams and tuition fees and the constant fear that one wrong move would send my entire life crashing down.

But the truth was, I couldn't stop thinking about it.

About the way his fingers moved on the guitar strings like he was telling a story without words.

About how he tossed me his hoodie without asking, like it was the most natural thing in the world to take care of a stranger who was crying.

About how he knew my name even though I never told him.

By 11 PM I was lying in bed staring at the ceiling while Nadia snored softly next to me, and my brain kept replaying the last thing he said: "Same time tomorrow?"

It wasn't really a question, more like a statement, like he already knew I would be there, like the moon had already decided this for us.

So at 1:55 AM I found myself climbing the stairs to the rooftop again, my heart beating so loud I was sure the security guard could hear it from downstairs, my hands clutching a thermos of coffee that I had bought with the last $3 in my wallet because the least I could do was bring something this time since he brought two cups last night.

The rooftop door creaked when I pushed it open, and there he was, exactly where I left him, sitting on the edge with his guitar in his lap and his profile turned toward the moon like he was carved out of the night itself, and for a second I just stood there watching him because he looked different in the moonlight, softer, younger, like the cold campus legend facade melted away when no one was watching.

He didn't turn around when he heard me, but I knew he knew it was me because he said without looking, "You're late. By 3 minutes."

"Sorry," I said, walking over and sitting down, not as far as last night but still leaving a careful foot of space between us, "the coffee line was long."

I held out the thermos. "I brought coffee. It's not as good as cafe coffee but..."

He finally looked at me, and his eyes did that thing again where they scanned my face like he was trying to figure me out, and then he took the thermos, opened it, took a sip, and nodded once. "It's good."

We drank in silence for a while, the city lights below us making everything feel unreal, like we were the only two people awake in the entire world, and I realized that this was becoming a thing, that we were becoming a thing, two strangers meeting in secret on a rooftop because the daylight was too loud and the moonlight was the only place where we could breathe.

"I thought you wouldn't come," he said suddenly, his voice quiet but cutting through the silence.

"Why?" I asked, pulling my knees to my chest.

"Because people like you don't come back to places that hurt them."

That made me frown. "What do you mean, people like me?"

He shrugged, his fingers starting to play a slow, melancholic tune on the guitar. "Scholarship kids. Good grades. Futures to worry about. You have too much to lose to sit on a rooftop with a guy who skips class and plays guitar for tips."

The words stung because they were true, but also because of the way he said them, like he had been watching me, like he knew more about me than I knew about him, and I hated that he was right but I hated even more that I couldn't stay away.

"Maybe I like places that hurt," I said, surprising even myself with how honest I sounded. "Maybe sitting here hurts less than sitting in my dorm thinking about how I failed."

He stopped playing and looked at me then, really looked at me, and there was something in his eyes that I couldn't name, something heavy and sad and maybe a little bit understanding, and he reached over and, without asking, pulled my hoodie strings tighter because the wind had picked up.

"You left this," he said, holding out the black hoodie from last night, folded neatly like he had been carrying it around all day waiting for me.

My face went hot. "Oh. I forgot to return it."

"You didn't forget," he said, and there was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. "You were scared if you gave it back, you wouldn't have an excuse to come back."

I didn't know what to say to that because he was right, and being seen so clearly by someone I barely knew was terrifying, so I just took the hoodie and put it on even though I wasn't cold anymore, because it smelled like him and for some reason that made me feel safe.

"Play something," I whispered.

And he did.

He played for almost an hour, songs I didn't know, songs that sounded like heartbreak and hope at the same time, and I watched his hands and the way the moonlight caught on the edges of his guitar and thought about how unfair it was that someone could look so beautiful while sounding so broken.

When he finished, he set the guitar down and leaned back on his hands, looking up at the sky. "You ever think about how the moon sees everything but never judges?"

"All the time," I said. "That's why I come here."

He turned his head toward me, and we were close now, close enough that I could see the faint scar on his jaw and the way his eyelashes looked silver in the moonlight. "Aira."

My name on his lips did something to me, made my chest tight in a way that had nothing to do with failed exams. "How do you know my name?"

"I asked around," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck like he was embarrassed. "After you left. I wanted to know who the girl was who cried on my rooftop."

"Your rooftop?" I teased, trying to lighten the moment.

"My rooftop," he said firmly, but his eyes were smiling. "I claimed it first."

We both laughed, soft and quiet, and it felt dangerous, like we were breaking some unspoken rule by being comfortable with each other, by letting the walls down under the cover of darkness.

"I have to go," I said eventually, because the sky was starting to lighten and soon the sun would come up and we would have to be strangers again, classmates who nodded in passing but never spoke.

He nodded too, standing up and packing his guitar. "Same time tomorrow?"

It was a question this time, and I could see the uncertainty in his eyes, like he was afraid I would say no, like this mattered to him more than he wanted to admit.

I stood too, and before I could overthink it, I said, "Yeah. Same time tomorrow."

As I walked to the door, I heard him say behind me, "Hey, Aira."

I turned. "Yeah?"

"Thanks for the coffee."

And then he was gone, disappearing down the stairs with his guitar, leaving me alone on the rooftop with the moon and the faint smell of coffee and the hoodie that I definitely wasn't going to return this time.

Because some things, once you find them under the moonlight, you're not supposed to let go.

[TO BE CONTINUED...]